


Everlong

by annie_reckson



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drunken Kissing, First Kiss, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Post-Coital Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annie_reckson/pseuds/annie_reckson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson and Martin Crieff have a chance meeting at a pub after they both confess their feelings to men that can't return them. And what starts as a simple friendship between kindred spirits grows into something more...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hello, I've Waited Here For You

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you'll bear with me, this is the first time I've ever really tried my hand at pure, smutty fanfiction. It's just...there's not a lot of Crieffson going around and I felt like I should contribute something. The main title and chapter titles I can only explain with this: I was drinking a lot of free beer at a brewery's anniversary when the idea for this story came to me and as I was mapping it out in my head, a guy was playing an acoustic version of "Everlong" and it seemed to fit. 
> 
> Also, this hasn't been beta'd or anything (the usual people I force to read my writing aren't exactly aware of my penchant for gay porn...) so absolutely any critiques are extremely welcome!
> 
> Oh, and, tags will be added as I write relevant content for them (i.e - when I finally figure out the things John and Martin will do to each other)

_Well that went fucking brilliantly._

John continued to mutter to himself as he made his way down the mostly-empty street in an attempt to distract his mind. Still, his thoughts nagged at him - six years of his life, six amazing, horrible, wrenching, fantastic years and he’d most likely just ruined all of it with a few words that flew out before he could stop them and a gesture that he could never, ever take back.

He stopped and sighed. He could feel the buzz of his phone from his jacket pocket, but chose to ignore it, instead rubbing his face until the friction became too much and letting out another weighted, weary sigh. When he opened his eyes, he noticed that he’d somehow managed to stop right in front of a pub.

_Well, it couldn’t make things worse..._

He pushed the heavy, oak door open to reveal a smallish interior overdone with dark wood paneling and centred by an impressive bar. Given the time of day, the place was understandably sparse; a pair of older gentleman were chatting and watching rugby highlights at one end of the bar while a younger man with slumped shoulders sat at the other end, and he thought he could just make out a couple sitting in one of the corner booths in the back.

Ideally, he’d wanted to drink quietly and alone, but found himself sitting just one stool away from the despondent-looking younger man. He forced himself to look cheery as he ordered a scotch from the bartender and then, perhaps to focus his mind on anything other than what had happened over the past few hours, he decided to see what he could deduce about the ginger-haired sad creature sitting next to him.

First off, obvious, was the crisp, black uniform he was wearing. Clearly a pilot, then. Craning his neck a bit, he caught a glimpse of the man’s left hand. _Interesting, a captain_. John stared back at his scotch, trying to figure out what could have happened to upset Captain Ginger, trying desperately to ignore the familiar deep voice repeating _You know my methods_ , over and over in his head.

Passenger death? No. He didn’t look shell-shocked, just...sad. So something personal. And he was sad, but not sad enough that it could be a deceased family member. He might have just lost his job, but his hat was sitting just to his right, obviously very carefully placed. He probably wouldn’t have taken such care with it if he wasn’t likely to wear it again in the near future. Try as he might, John couldn’t make himself feel certain about any possibility, so he decided to try it the old-fashioned way.

He turned to the side and tilted his head a bit, “You’re not flying anytime soon are you?”

The young man looked confused, “I’m sorry? I mean...I’m not, y’know, not for a couple of...umm....days now, but...why would you say that?”

John smirked and gestured towards his uniform, “It’s a bit of a giveaway.”

He laughed, albeit a bit painfully, “Ah, yeah, I suppose it is...”

“So, you’re a captain then?”

The man grimaced a bit, “I...uh...I used to be. I mean...I’m still a pilot, I still fly planes. I’m just not a uh....a captain anymore. I ummm...I’m a...” He took a swig of his drink, “I’m a first officer now.”

John’s brain dinged, _Bingo_ , “So...you were, demoted, I guess, then?”

“Oh...uh...hardly. Actually got a pay raise of sorts.”

 _Not Bingo_ , “Well, if it makes you feel better, I used to be a captain as well.”

“Oh...oh really? You’ve been a pilot?”

“Ah no, not exactly.” He stuck his hand out, “Captain John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Regiment of the Northumberland Fusiliers.”

The man shook it and gave him a small smile, “First Officer Martin Crieff, formerly a captain.” He chuckled a bit, “So, you were probably in Afghanistan or Iraq, right?”

The question made John unconsciously shudder.

“Oh oh oh, oh God I’m sorry. That’s not really an appropriate question is it?”

“No uh, it’s...perfectly reasonable.” John paused, “Afghanistan, by the way.”

It was a few moments before Martin spoke again, “I’m sorry, again, by the way. I’ve just...had a bit of a day.”

John’s phone buzzed against the wooden bar, “Yeah...I’ve had a bit of one, too.” He, again, ignored it.

“Should you get that?”

“It’s just my...” _Partner? ‘Partner’? Friend? The man I have a hopeless crush on?_ “Flatmate.”

“Oh I uh...just got a new flat myself,” He swirled his drink, “In...Zurich.”

“Zurich, eh? I’ve heard it’s lovely. I’ve never...uh, never been.” Although he could think of one daft git that probably had been. Without him.

“It’s...nice I suppose. I don’t really get to see much, to be honest. Y’know, with the flying and everything.”

John had to chuckle, “Pardon me if this is presumptuous, but you don’t seem too excited about your new job.”

“No..no...it’s, y’know, it’s nice, there’s just some...things....” He scoffed, “Someone from my old job that I might...miss. Or have missed.”

“So you don’t miss...them...anymore?”

Martin put his face in his hands, “I actually saw them - him - today. I made the mistake of ...godidon’tknowwhyi’mtellingyouthis...I might have told him that-”

“You’ve got feelings for him?”

“Hah. Yeah. My uniform didn’t give that away too, did it?”

“Ah no, just a little...deductive reasoning.” His phone buzzed again as if on cue, “I may be able to...relate a little bit with you there.”

Martin opened his mouth a few times, but was unable to respond before the door to the pub opened with a flurry of coat. John groaned as the trenchcoat tornado stomped his way towards him. With a sneer, Sherlock snapped up John’s phone from the bar and jabbed it in his face.

“For goodness sake, John! How am I supposed to get in touch with you when I need you when you decide to drink your afternoon away rather than answer my texts?”

John watched Sherlock’s nostrils flare and couldn’t help but smile, “Let me finish my drink, I’ll be right out, okay?”

Sherlock gritted his teeth and shoved the phone in John’s pocket, “Check your texts. And drink quickly, I will never forgive you if a murderer gets away because you just had to share....oh cheap scotch, really, John?....with,” Sherlock looked Martin up and down, “An airline captain? Since when do you know an airline captain?”

“Since today, actually. This is Captain Martin Crieff. Martin, this is Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective." If the last few words were tinged with bitterness, neither Sherlock nor Martin seemed to notice.

Martin extended his hand, but Sherlock just raised an eyebrow and turned on his heel to disappear as he had arrived, in a rush of blue scarf and black coat. John let out a painful laugh and rubbed his hand over his face before choking down the rest of his scotch. Gesturing to the bartender, he pulled his card out to pay and quickly signed the receipt. He paused for a second and stole a glance back at Martin, who had a sheepish grin on his face. On the extra copy of his receipt, John quickly wrote his number down and slid the piece of paper over.

“Look I don’t want you to get the wrong idea or-”

“You called me a Captain.”

John smiled, “Well, yeah, once a Captain, always a Captain, right?”

“Thank you...I...I sometimes miss the title. And the hat. Although, to be honest, you’re the first person...I think to recognize me as a Captain. Kind of fitting that I’m a First Officer now,” He stared down into his drink, “Most people always assumed I was anyway.”

John couldn’t resist and put a hand on Martin’s shoulder, “You look very much like a Captain and I honestly wish I could stay longer but uh...” He pointed in the direction of the door, “I’ve got a murderer to chase, apparently. But please um...text me, if you’d like to.”

For his part, Martin looked confused, “Really? Umm...thank you. Thank you, John, perhaps I will.”

With a nod, John hurried out the door and almost ran into Sherlock, who was busy texting and barely gave John a look. With a huff, Sherlock finally put his phone away and took off down the street, simply waving for John to follow him.

He was reluctant to just blindly follow, but knew he couldn’t resist and took off after the detective. Although he wasn’t looking forward to the end of the case, when he knew Sherlock would find someway to bring up the incident.

It had been nothing really, _really_. They’d spent all of the night and most of the morning running around the small town, trying to find a certain building painted a certain shade of brown on one of the walls that would match a piece of chipped paint found on the victim. Around 7, right as the sun was starting to come up, Sherlock had suddenly given a hushed cry and ran his hands over the wall behind the post office. With a gleeful smile, Sherlock had scrapped more of the paint off into two ziplock bags - one to give the police in order to appease them, and one that he could perform tests on himself.

It was at that moment, Sherlock’s exuberance combined with the first rays of sunlight falling across his features, that John realized how truly smitten he really was and couldn’t resist grabbing Sherlock’s coat by the lapels and pulling his face close to his. Not his mouth to his, just yet, just enjoying the closeness and the warmth of Sherlock’s breath.

“John...I-”

John silenced him by closing the distance between them, pressing his lips against Sherlock’s and their bodies together. After a beat, he let go of the coat and ran his hands down Sherlock’s sides.

“You, Sherlock, are so brilliant. So fantastic. So amazing. You just...keep me in awe.” He punctuated each sentence with another gentle press on Sherlock’s mouth.

He was so overwhelmed with excitement over what he was doing that it took him a second to realize that Sherlock wasn’t reciprocating. His arms were splayed akimbo, still holding the evidence bags, and he wasn’t making any move to return John’s kisses. The realization hit him like a brick and he stepped backwards quickly as if he’d been slapped. He felt his face flush with embarrassment and couldn’t bring himself to look up at Sherlock’s face, knowing that either confusion or disgust, or possibly a combination of both, awaited him there.

Sherlock took a small step forward, “John, look, I-” He began again.

He put a hand up, “No, just please don’t, okay? I don’t need to hear it. It was stupid.”

“No, I understa-”

“You really don’t,” John choked out a laugh, “Look, I just need some ti- I just need to be by myself for a bit, okay?”

He walked off without waiting for an answer, the last thing he wanted was a fancy retort from Sherlock. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he had initially headed back to the hotel to get some rest, hoping that Sherlock would head straight to the police with his findings, but after tossing in the bed for a few hours, he had finally decided to take a walk around the town, which had led him to the pub. Which had led him to Martin.


	2. If Anything Could Ever Be This Good Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I was going to wait a little longer to post this, but the Packers lost so I'm not in the best of moods so I've been working on the story more. 
> 
> Basically, this is the same day from the last chapter, just as told from Martin's perspective

Martin stared at the piece of receipt paper in his hands, _Today really has been a...day_. He found himself smiling at John’s scribblish handwriting and wishing they’d been able to talk longer. Their short conversation had definitely made up for how horrible his morning had gone, and just thinking about that morning made him finish the rest of his drink, wincing as he did so, and asking the bartender for another.

He hadn’t anticipated anything when they’d landed in Cardiff in the early hours of the day, he’d just been relieved that it had been a short flight and there were a few days to relax in a nice hotel before a long trip to Dubai. Martin had even considered himself lucky that his captain on the Dubai flight would be Phillip, who was older and often told him funny stories from his youth (and got him started on the “Spot the Boat” game, which Martin was surprisingly good at playing), because the original captain for the trip, Romain, who would no doubt have spent the entire flight trying to get Martin to play “Who Would You Rather?” with him (“Oh come on, a sweaty footballer after a triple-header without a shower or your grandmother’s friend from childhood? Eh? Eh? Just pick one!”) had been forced to back out due to a family emergency. Not that Martin had wanted something bad to happen to Romain’s family; not at all. In fact, Martin didn’t wish any ill-will towards him. It would just be a relief to...fly without him.

He was just rechecking his hotel information he heard a familiar voice coming towards him. Looking up, his breath caught when he saw Douglas notice him, smile, and walk over with his suitcase. The first thing that popped into Martin’s head was how great Douglas looked since he’d last seen him: he looked like he’d lost a bit of weight, his eyes seemed less tired, and the crisp, black uniform he was wearing definitely fit him better than the one from MJN Air had. Then, Martin noticed his hat - Douglas was wearing a captain’s hat. That explained the bright smile he was giving Martin.

Douglas eagerly clapped him on the shoulder, “Martin! It’s been a couple of years, hasn’t it? It’s so good to see you, you look...well.”

Martin swallowed, “Thanks...Douglas, I hadn’t heard that you were flying again...”

“Oh, it’s a long and wonderful story, why don’t we grab a coffee and catch up? If you have time?”

 “Uh, sure, I think I can spare a bit of time, if -”

 “Fantastic! I just have to pop-over and have a chat with my First Officer, but I could meet you in the coffeeshop downstairs say in...fifteen minutes?”

 “Yeah sure, that’s...fine, that’ll be....fine.” Martin forced a smile.

 Douglas chuckled, “Oh Martin. Well, I’ll see you in fifteen then.”

 Martin waited for him to walk out of sight then hurried to the first bathroom he could find. Frowning in the mirror, he quickly splashed his face with cool water and ran his hands through his tangled hair, which to be honest was getting a bit long but he just hadn't made to time to get it trimmed and even so, he wasn't in Fitton much these days and he hadn't looked for a decent barber in Zurich yet so...

He sighed and fixed his hat before brushing down and straightening his uniform. It wasn't that he didn't look nice, he just definitely would have made an effort to look better - maybe even shaved off the tiny bit of stubble around his jawline that was threatening to show - had he known who he'd be running into.

 "Well, I suppose this is as good as it gets..." He mumbled to himself before walking out and heading to the cafe.

Douglas was already sitting at a table, flipping through the Times, when Martin walked in. The morning sun coming through the window was hitting his profile perfectly, making him look more noble and chiseled than usual. Martin sucked in a breath and forced himself to look away, instead walking stiffly to the counter to order a coffee.

"Well hello again, Douglas," Martin said as he sat across from him, "I say 'again' because, y'know, we said hello just a few minutes before..."

"Ah yes, that does seem to ring a bell," Douglas gave him what Martin knew was his most charming smile, "So how are you? Enjoying Swiss Air? Having fun with good ol' Hercules?"

"Oh, actually, Herc and I don't fly much together. The first time was a bit...a bit awkward, considering what happened to MJN after I left."

"You mean the part about it folding?"

"Yes....that."

"Oh no need to beat yourself up about it Martin, it was bound to happen sooner or later. At least you were able to jump ship beforehand. Now, Carolyn was able to sell Gertie for much more than the old girl was actually worth so she's living quite happily."

"Yes, Herc told me about that. Although, apparently, she still refuses to move to Zurich. Or acquiesce to dating Herc.”

“She is a stubborn one, that Carolyn. Did Bercules-”

“Douglas, don’t call him that.”

“Sorry. Didn’t know you two had become such close _friends_.”

"No, it’s just- it’s not that. But he’s a nice guy, y’know? He’s definitely not a _berk_.”

“Fine. Did _Hercules_ tell you that Arthur has a nice job caddying at a country club?”

Martin’s eyebrows raised, “Oh really? Arthur? Was able to get a job?”

“Well, when I say job...I mean, he wasn’t ever exactly hired. He just kind of shows up every day and chats people up while carrying their golf clubs around.”

“Oh. Yes, that does sound like Arthur,” Martin let out a desperate chuckle, “What about you, though? Last Ber-Hercules told me, you were unemployed.”

“Ah, he would use that term wouldn’t he? I suppose I was technically ‘unemployed’ but I prefer the term ‘on vacation’.”

“That is the term you would use.”

“Well, when MJN folded, I found myself without a job, a wife, or even a girlfriend. But, I was in possession of quite a deal of money and quite a few people who owed me favours. So I ended up spending a few months in Monaco.”

“Monaco? Really?”

“Oh God yes. A little sunbathing, a little gambling. Nothing like a nice relaxing vacation to make you forget your cares. I might have stayed even longer if I hadn’t gotten the call from Thomas Cook.”

“ _You_ got a call from Thomas Cook?”

“And _you_ got a job with Swiss Airways. As you can see, strange things can happen.”

“Hey now! I got a job because of my-”

Douglas waved his hand, “Martin, I don’t really care. If it makes you feel better, I’m certain Carolyn had a hand in it. Possibly from some form of misplaced guilt.”

Martin paused and took a breath, “For what it’s worth, I do miss you Douglas. I mean, I miss flying with you. Well, I do just miss you as well. But mostly, um, mostly the flying bit.”

Douglas smiled and scrunched his brow, “Oh Martin, you’re such a softie, I didn’t know you cared.”

Suddenly the silkiness of Douglas’s voice was too much for him, “Look, Douglas, there’s something I never told you while we were...flying together and I kind of want to tell you know, if that’s alright.”

Douglas’s eyes widened, “Martin, you really shouldn’t do that. And if it’s what I think it is, I assure you, I already know.”

“Wait? What? What do you mean you ‘already know’? How could you have POSSIBLY known? That I-”

“Look, I don’t want you to say it because I...I'm unable to return the sentiment, Martin.”

Martin’s face fell, “Oh.”

Douglas rubbed his face and sighed, “I was hoping to avoid this but, I have known for quite a bit. I’ll admit, the princess did throw me off a little, but you’re not exactly difficult to read.”

“I’m not...I see.”

"It's flattering, I assure you, I'm just very much a man for the ladies. And you are not exactly a lady. I'm sure you understand."

"No.... I suppose I do," Suddenly the lid on Martin's coffee became very interesting, "I should probably go, y'know, I've got all sorts of um, flight plans and....and manuals to go over," He stood up hastily, "I must really be dashing-"

Douglas grabbed his arm, "Martin...you should know that I have missed you as well, if it hasn't been obvious. And I would love for us to have a professional relationship. But just as friends. I do miss being your friend."

He looked everywhere but at Douglas, "Yeah, that...that would be alright, Douglas. I could do that, I think. But I-I-I-I really do need to go over those...."

"Flight plans?"

"Yes, those."   

He could tell that Douglas didn't believe him, but he sighed and let go of Martin's arm anyway. And after stuttering out a goodbye, which Douglas smirked at then charmingly returned, Martin left the cafe as quickly as he could without looking ridiculous.

His phone buzzed annoyingly in his pocket once he was a few gates away from Douglas and the cafe. It took him a second to take it out, only because he was worried that it might be Douglas on the other end. He was only slightly relieved to see his mum's name and number flash on the screen. And by the end of the two-hour phone call that had droned on as he left the airport, checked into his hotel, and finally rested on the plush bed, he found himself wishing that it HAD been Douglas at the other end.

When he finally got his mum off the phone, Martin found that he was too restless to do anything but pace back and forth. Finally, his agitation started to wear on him and he strode out of the hotel, called a taxi, and asked for a pub suggestion. Martin wasn't much of a drinker, but had indulged in the past when he was feeling especially scattered. And he WAS feeling especially scattered. The cabbie recommended a place in a nearby village, which is where he ended up. Which is how he met John.


	3. Tonight, I Throw Myself Into

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The case is solved, the murderer is caught, the consulting detective is passed out on a train back to London. But, somehow, John finds a way to pass the time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since neither of them would sign their texts the way Sherlock does, I was trying to think of a way to show their texting conversation without constantly noting who was sending what message. 
> 
> So, unless it explicitly says who the text is from, texts from Martin will be hyphenated. Let me know if that makes it clear!

 

Later that night, after the murderer had been apprehended - Sherlock had cut him off in an alleyway and had John sit on him until the police could get there - and John was on a train headed back to London, his phone buzzed beside him. He looked up instinctively at Sherlock, but the detective was leaning his head against the window and sleeping in what looked like an incredibly uncomfortable position. Something about seeing Sherlock look so young and vulnerable made John smirk as he reached for his phone to check his texts.

It was from an unknown number and simply read _So, did you catch the murderer?_

John sat puzzled for a couple of minutes until a second text came in

_-God, sorry. This is Martin, by the way, I probably should have led with that rather than the whole “murderer thing”._

John chuckled softly and started to type out a text in reply when a third text arrived:

_-But did you catch him? The murderer, I mean._

John typed out a quick reply _, Yes, actually._ and sent it before starting on a longer one:

_I didn’t know you were so interested in murderers, though._

_-I’m not really, y’know, I don’t obsess over serial killers or anything like that, but someone who catches murderers is interesting._

_Being a pilot is interesting, too._

John stared at his screen for five straight minutes, worried that Martin wasn’t ever going to reply.

_-...Do you really think so?_

_Yes, absolutely!_ and John found himself genuinely smiling.

_-So, since you’ve solved the case, does that mean you’re not around Cardiff anymore?_

_I’m actually on a train now, headed back to London._

John quickly added, _It’s a bit posh, to be honest. But Sherlock’s a bit posh._

_-Oh._

A second text quickly followed, _This will probably sound stupid, but I was hoping to catch you for a drink again. Y’know, before I have to fly to Dubai._

_Dubai, eh?_

_-Yes, it’s going to be a horribly long flight, but it does provide some lovely views of the Mediterranean Sea_

_-Actually, my captain for the flight and I will probably play a game called “Spot the Boat”, it’s really fun. You just look for boats and try to be the first one to spot them._

John smiled as he received a third one, _Wow, sorry. That probably sounds rather dull to you._

He tried to think of something nice and reassuring to text back, and finally settled on, _I kind of miss getting to play silly games. The last time I played Cluedo, I almost got stabbed._

_-Oh God, really?_

_Yeah,_ He looked across at Sherlock again, _Some people don’t like to be told when they’re wrong_

_-You know, I know exactly what you mean._

_Well, we can’t meet for a drink right now, but we could continue our conversation from earlier if you’d like_

_-What do you mean?_

_Oh God, you know, the whole "unrequited affection" thing_

_-Oh._

_Martin, if you don't want to talk about it, we won't_

_-No_

_No?_

_-I might have had quite a lot to drink, more than usual. Enough to cope with...earlier today._

_Then you should probably sleep._

_-No. I won't talk about today ever if I just sleep._

_So...talk to me. I'm bored on a bloody train_

As soon as he sent it, he realized how it sounded and added, _And I'm interested_

_-He's a really nice guy, you know_

_I'm sorry, who?_

_-Douglas._

- _Sorry, I just realized that you probably don't know who Douglas is._

_Oh! I'm assuming he's the..._

_-Yes. We used to work together._

_Ah yeah, you mentioned._

_-Sorry_

_Don't be, but tell me more_

_-I saw him this morning and he just looked great. I mean as long as I've know him he's looked great and well, brilliant, but today was even more_

_Brilliant, eh?_

_-He is. Brilliant and smart and clever and and and handsome. Quite handsome actually._

Another text arrived before John could answer, _God I'm depressing myself_

It made John smile and glance over at Sherlock. This time Sherlock shifted and grumbled at him.

"For God's sake, John. Who or what is so fascinating that you keep giggling to yourself and jabbing at your phone so loudly?"

"Oh I was just-"

"Sorry, while you may have thought I was trying to engage you in conversation, what I really meant was this: Shut up."

With that, Sherlock grumbled again and readjusted himself so he was lying full on the seat with his back to John.

John turned his attention back to his phone, _Sounds very familiar_

_-Oh really?_

_Well yeah, I did tell you that I could relate_

_-Is it your detective?_

_....what?_

_-Your detective. Is he the one you like_

Oh. John snuck another glance at the crumpled form across from him, _Unfortunately, yes._

_-He is rather good looking, from what I saw_

The next text made John cover his mouth to hide his laughter, _A bit of a dick though, sorry if saying that upsets you_

_No, you're very right. He is very much an insufferable dick sometimes_

_-God, I have had far too much of this minibar_

_Oh! Fancy you, with a nice minibar and everything_

_-After working for free for too many years, I deserve a nice minibar_

_For free? Don't tell me that you were a pilot without getting paid for it_

_-Can we pretend I didn't tell you that?_

_For now yes, but I will want details later_

_-If I'm not forthcoming now, I especially won't be when I'm sober later_

_Then I suppose I'll have to get you drunk again_

_-I don't really drink that often, you know_

_Next time you're in London, you're drinking on me_

_-Oh really, ON you?_

John's eyes widened; had Martin just actually flirted with him? He got his answer quickly:

_-God, I'm so sorry. That was horribly awkward and I think that's my cue to get some rest_

_Alright then, gnight Martin_

_-Thanks for listening. Or reading. Or. You know._

_Anytime, captain._

John couldn't help but smirk at his own cleverness. Whatever that had been, it HAD felt a little good to be awkwardly flirted with. He inhaled deeply and stared out the window, wondering how long much longer the bloody train ride would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter is a little short, and apologies in advance because the next chapter will be rather short also. BUT, the fifth chapter is working out to be rather long, so you have that to look forward to!


	4. Come Down And Waste Away With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the sweet lil' army doctor leaves the pilot feeling a bit flustered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also a bit short, so I apologize for that, but it IS rather fluffy, so you can enjoy that part of it...
> 
> Also, as before, unless it states who the text is from, Martin's texts will be hyphenated

The first thing Martin realized when he woke up the next morning was how heavy his head was. He couldn’t remember the last time he had drank so much; usually he ignored the minibar but had been unable to resist it last night. Although, it had made it easier to talk to John.

_Oh God._

He fumbled around in the sheets for his phone, tossing pillows and blankets on the floor as he went. Finally, he located it underneath one of the pillows on the other side of the bed and began scrolling through the texts, his eyes growing wider with each one until he got to the one.

"Oh for....'Oh really, on you'?" He rubbed a hand over his face, "God, I am a massive berk."

He was composing an apology text when he noticed the last one John had sent, _Anytime, captain_ , and felt a smile warming its way across his face.

He quickly finished his text ( _Sorry about last night, I think I should stay away from minibars for the time being_ ) then sat cross-legged on the bed with his phone in his lap and stared at the text from John. He would never admit it to anyone, but the shift from Captain to First Officer hadn't been as painless as he'd thought it would be. It was silly, really, if anything he should be grateful to finally be paid for doing what he loved, and especially that he had been able to quit being a Man With A Van. But, he knew there was a part of him that missed being the Commanding Officer. Missed being Skipper.

It was refreshing to have someone still see him as a Captain. Well, someone besides Arthur. He made a mental note to call Arthur; he hadn't seen him or really spoken to him since he'd started at Swiss Air, a fact that gave him a little twinge of guilt.

He was about to get up and dressed when his phone buzzed with a text from John, _Nice to see you awake, Captain Crieff. And really don't worry about it, it kept me entertained on an otherwise very boring train ride_

Martin grinned and rested his chin lazily on his fist. He was trying to think of a good reply when he received a second text, _Although, as both a doctor and a brother of an alcoholic, I feel that I should remind you not to make it a habit_

He hadn't expected that, _You're a doctor?_

_Yeah, when I'm not chasing down murderers_

_-Huh, wow. How exactly do you manage that?_

_Oh it's somewhat easier than you think. It's just at a small clinic. And they're very...understanding_

Something in Martin's head clicked, _So were you an army doctor?_

_Uh yeah, when I wasn't being shot at._

_And sometimes while I WAS being shot at._

_-Did you get shot?_

_-God, sorry, you don't have to answer that_

_Martin, you've got to stop apologising. And yeah, I did get shot in the shoulder. It's not too awful, but still hurts from time to time_

_And don't you dare apologise for apologising. Or I swear to God..._

_-Hah, I won't then_

_That's a good lad. If I may ask, when will you be in London again?_

Martin had to think, _Umm...After Dubai it’s a short flight to Qatar, then back to Zurich for a couple of days, then after that I’m not sure, but I could check_

_Please do, we’ve got drinks to grab together._

_My next patient is about to come in so I probably won't be able to reply for a bit_

_-Oh wow, you don't really get a day off, do you?_

_Oh, occasionally. A day or two here and there_

_-Before I took the job at Swiss Air, I was either flying or doing my second job so I can relate_

_Really? Why would a pilot need a second job? And what was it?_

_-I somehow was talked into being a captain for a small charter airline... Or rather...airdot.... without getting paid_

_-And I was a...God I don't even want to tell you._

_It can't be that embarrassing. Were you a stripper?_

_-That's your best guess?_

_Hah! Just, you're not a bad-looking bloke and it's a job that you don't want to talk about. 2+2, etc._

_-I don't know if this is more or less embarrassing than being a stripper but I was a_ , Martin took a deep breath then typed it out, _Man With A Van_

_-Also...so I'm not bad-looking, eh?_

Shit. Martin had typed that out without intending to send it. And this time, he wouldn't be able to blame the alcohol. He held his breath waiting for a reply from John.

_My patient is literally walking in the door, but don't think I'm going to let you get away without explaining your Man With A Van experience_

_And no, as it happens, you are not at all bad-looking_

Martin knew the grin on his face was stupid, he knew that he was blushing almost as red as his hair, and he knew that he shouldn't like someone this much that he had just met. But at that moment, he didn't care.


	5. Slow, How You Wanted It To Be

John had never been much of a texter before Sherlock - who had insisted fervently that he "preferred to text" - but he found himself over the next few weeks not only looking forward to texts from Martin, but eagerly replying to them. Despite whether he was at work or on a crime scene, he found himself unable to resist responding. He especially liked it when Martin would send him pictures of the sunrise from different parts of the world, be it Shanghai or Cuzco, and he couldn't really explain why. It was always just a fantastic feeling to know that someone was thinking about him.

In fact, he found it a bit embarrassing when he realized that not only was he looking forward to Martin arriving in London, but subconsciously counting down towards it. A part of him was afraid that Sherlock had noticed, if only because they had still avoided discussing  whatever it was that had occurred outside of Cardiff. John was waiting for Sherlock to mention it as he was hesitant to even bring it up for fear of being called “an idiot.” Even after The Fall and The Return, there were still times when emotions were not his strong point, and the ignorant git seemed content to let it remain that way.

John stared at his reflection in the small mirror in his bedroom. He straightened his jumper and checked for lint before fixing his collar. God, this felt like a date, was it a date? True, he had been looking forward to it since Martin had texted him earlier that week letting him know he'd be in London for a couple of nights, but it was just grabbing a couple of drinks with a friend, wasn't it?

Sherlock was busy playing his violin, as he had been all day, when John came downstairs. For a beat, he stood there just staring at Sherlock's back and profile. Four years ago, he'd been dead, two years ago, he'd been his best man, and a year and a half ago he'd needed him more than ever. John shook his head, refusing to let his mind wander there, not when all he wanted was to go out, have a few drinks, and enjoy himself in good company.

Suddenly, the violin stopped and Sherlock turned towards him, "Going to meet the pilot, then?"

"Yeah...should I ask how you guessed that?"

"Lestrade's busy tonight and you haven't seen Mike for months. You could be meeting him to catch up but you look rather nice,"

"Thank you."

Sherlock smirked, "Of course. And you wouldn't try to look nice for Mike. Now, as far as I know, you haven't met any women in the yoghurt aisle of Tesco's in awhile, and besides, your little face _lights up_ every time the pilot-"

"He does have a name, you know."

"Ah yes, _Martin_ , your little face lights up every time _Martin_ texts you."

"It. It does not." John could feel himself blushing.

"Oh but it does. Don't worry, I'm not jealous."

John pursed his lips, "Why would you be jealous?"

Sherlock made the face, "John, really. Just because we haven't talked about it? I haven't forgotten," He sat and started tuning his violin, "I just...didn't want to bring it up."

"Well that is just lovely, how wonderful for you to mention it now," John turned to leave then spun back around, "Just curious, DID you have anything to say about it?"

Sherlock stood up and strode over to John, invading his space, "John. You are many things to me. My partner, best friend, blogger, and most important person in my life."

John's breath hitched. A combination of Sherlock's words and proximity.

"But," Sherlock continued, "In the more...indelicate...areas of the human condition, you are just...unsuitable." Sherlock backed away.

"I'm sorry, what?"

The detective flopped onto the couch, "You're just, simply, not my type."

"Not your type?"

"No..." Sherlock smiled to himself, "I like them older, rougher, less needy, a bit more controlling... _greyer_..."

John clenched and unclenched his fists, "Right then. So glad we could chat this over," He realized that Sherlock was no longer paying attention to him, "Right, I'm off then."

Sherlock's only response was absent-minded plucking of his violin. John sighed, threw his jacket on, and made his way down the stairs, hoping he would be able to catch a cab. Martin's hotel wasn't too far away, but the chilly night made him uneager to walk there.

Martin was already waiting for him when he got to the hotel bar ten minutes later. He looked slightly different from their last bar encounter: his hair had definitely been trimmed and suited his features much better, and instead of his captain uniform, he had on dark jeans and a blue pullover. He noticed John right away when he walked in and stood up with apparent intent to embrace him, but as John walked towards him, he could tell that Martin was second-guessing himself. John sighed and wrapped an arm around him in a quick hug before sitting down; he couldn't help but notice Martin's sigh of relief when he sat down next to him.

John gestured towards Martin's glass, "So, what are you drinking then?"

"Oh...uh, beer. Just wanted something a bit lighter tonight."

"Well, I assumed it was beer from the look of it..."

"Oh, oh of course. Sorry. It's a uh...a lager. With a lady's name...."

"Stella?"

"Yeah! That's it! Umm...is that a good choice?"

John smiled, "Yes, that sounds lovely, I'll have to grab one as well," John gestured to the bartender to order a pint for himself then turned back to Martin, "So how has flying been?"

Martin grinned, "Just, amazing. There's nothing I'd rather do with my life, really. Every time I fly a plane, doesn't even matter where, I always feel the same thrill in my gut."

"Huh, really? I had no idea you were so passionate about it."

"Planes are really the only thing I'm passionate about, I’ve never even really engaged in hobbies or anything. Actually, the only reason I even got an interview with Swiss Air is because I aced the written exam and they.... thought I'd cheated."

"Do people usually not ace the exam?"

"No.....the average score is a 70 I think."

"My God, Martin. That's brilliant! No wonder they thought you cheated."

"Yeah, apparently not many people have the manual memorised..."

"You- You memorised the manual?"

Martin grinned sheepishly, "Yeah.... I told you, planes are the only thing I'm passionate about. Before I wanted to be a pilot, I wanted to _be_ an airplane."

John chuckled, "Really? That's actually kinda cute. Little Martin, dreaming of being an airplane..."

"Hey! I'm sure you thought...silly things...when you were a kid."

John rested his chin on his hand, "Not that I can remember. I think I've always wanted to be a doctor. I was always bandaging up my stuffed animals, stuff like that, y'know?"

"Oh, I see. Making sure poor Teddy didn't have a cold, were you?"

"Well when you say it like that, it...might...sound a bit silly."

They had a couple more pints and continued to chat; John discovered that Martin had found and read his blog, so he told him about some of the smaller cases that hadn't been written about yet, and Martin entertained John with some of the stories from his time at MJN.

"Are you actually serious," John wiped tears from his eyes, "You really drove a plane through the desert?"

"Yes! It was the only solution! It was actually pretty fun, to be honest."

"Well that is....one of the most insane things I've ever heard, and you've seen who I live with."

"And I've read your blog. Although from what you've told me tonight, you're really holding out on the general public."

"Well there are some that, for various international or government reasons, I just can't divulge yet. I would love to tell you about the time Sherlock had to dress as a clown."

"A clown? Really?" Martin leaned closer on his elbows, "You really can't tell me?"

John wiggled his glass, which only a few sips left, "I would need something stronger than this."

"Well, as it happens," Martin tilted his head towards John, "I learned a little trick to acquire the good whiskey from the plane and replace it with slightly not as good whiskey," He leaned closer, "And I might have some up in my room, if you're interested."

"Really? Martin?" John leaned in, "I never took you for the thieving type." He smiled and raised an eyebrow

“I...uhhh” Martin gave a sideways smile, “I thought it might be nice to share some stolen whiskey?” He scrunched his nose and gave John a toothy grin.

John leaned back, “Well then why don’t we settle up here and you can show me the way?” He lowered his brow, “But in my defense, it usually isn’t this easy for someone to persude me up to their hotel room.”

“Then apparently you don’t run into too many pilots that can also name all seven dwarves.”

He chuckled, “Ah no, that’s a very specific skill set to have.”

Back in Martin’s room, he produced from his bag what looked like a bottle of very cheap whiskey, so cheap, in fact, that it was in a plastic bottle. Before John could complain, though, Martin took two plastic cups off the desk and poured a bit into each. John took a deep breath and decided to trust him.

“Oh wow, that is quite good. You’ll have to teach me that trick.”

“Oh, it’s quite easy with a bit of clear nail polish...”

They started out with John sitting on the desk chair and Martin on the bed, but after refilling the plastic cups a few times, they somehow both ended up sitting on the floor next to each other against the bed. By this time, the conversation had shifted from airline safety protocol to an argument over tea versus coffee to favorite movies.

John pointed a finger gun at the hotel window, “Goldfinger, absolutely. I remember one of my mates sneaking it over to my house when I was about....young...maybe...12? I fell in love with James Bond instantly.”

“Mmm...I’d have to say Star Wars, as a child I really idel-ida-id- _O_ -lized Han Solo until I realized what a reckless pilot he was.”

“He was a good pilot though.”

“His flippant attitude towards safety measures is appalling.”

John couldn’t help himself and burst out laughing, leaning forward to clench his stomach. Martin followed soon thereafter, as though it were contagious. He covered his mouth in order to stifle his laughter in case the neighbors could hear, but found that only made him laugh harder. After a moment, John was finally able to contain himself and leaned back against the bed.

“Y’know, that reminds me of one of my faaaavorite jokes.”

Martin turned and grinned at him, “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah, hold on let me make sure I remember it....Who swore the most in Star Wars?”

“Uhhhhh...I have no idea, who?”

“R2-D2, they bleeped out all of his lines...”

John started giggling before he could even finish the sentence, and Martin followed soon after, until his sides genuinely ached. He briefly thought about standing up to stretch his

legs out, but there was something comfortable about his current position and he wasn’t eager to change it, especially when he noticed Martin pouring more whiskey into his cup.

Martin rubbed his eyes, “Oh! I’ve got one: what did the mermaid wear to math class?”

John grinned, “I don’t know, what?”

Martin’s face falls, “Oh no....hold on...hold on...I’ll think of it...”

“It’s alright if you don’t remember, mate...”

“No....no....no...oh! An algae-bra!”

John let out a noise that was half-groan and half-chuckle and found himself leaning closer to Martin. To his surprise, Martin followed his lead and leaned in closer as well. He knew that he should blame the whiskey for the fact that he keeps flickering his eyes between Martin’s wide-open eyes and slightly-open mouth. He should blame the whiskey when he smiles and licks his lips. And he really should blame the whiskey when he leans in just a few more centimeters. But when Martin closes the distance and he feels that first perfect bit of pressure of Martin’s mouth on his, he finds that he doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright...so I might have wedged my other ship in here just a little bit. It's probably my goal to make everyone on this show gay. Let's just pair everyone up: Mike Stamford/Anderson, Sally Donovan/Molly Hooper, Mrs Hudson/Minerva McGonagall, I'm sure we could do loads more


	6. You Gotta Promise Not To Stop When I Say "When"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John shows how he earned his "Three Continents Watson" nickname

It was rather sloppy at first, but that, Martin felt, was partially due to their inebriation. Despite the sloppiness, though, John was pressing back against Martin as much as he was pressing into John, which was good, because in Martin’s head, he was following the correct protocol:

**Procedure for Resolving Attraction in Possible Interested Parties**

1.) Determine if the other person involved seems interested  
  
2.) Decide if you are also interested (if yes, proceed with procedure)  
  
3.) ~~Captain dons cap~~ _NO NO WRONG PROCEDURE!_  
  
3.) Determine eagerness of other party, in order not to appear over-eager  
  
4.) Follow their movements and mirror their closeness  
  
5.) If they have not initiated contact, and you desire to do so, proceed with caution and only if you feel comfortably doing so

5a.) If initiation of contact is particularly well received, feel free to push back against the other person until they’re lying on the floor with you on top of them _Recently Added_

 

 _So far, so good_ , Martin thought to himself as his elbows rested on the carpet on either side of John’s shoulders. He lowered his chest until it was just touching John's and, for a moment, just relished the feel of their lips sliding together. Martin was pleased to find that he could still taste cedar and cinnamon from the whiskey and, experimentally, opened his mouth and deepened the kiss to see if he could taste more.

John responded immediately, moving his right hand from where it had been resting on Martin's hip and tangling it up in his hair, gently pushing him down further. Martin moaned against his will as he felt John's tongue slide between his lips and reciprocated eagerly. He felt his body shudder as John's hand smoothed its way down his back and then slid under his pullover. Soon John's other hand joined and Martin wasn't sure of the last time his skin felt so electric.

Slowly, John ran his hands up Martin's sides, pushing his pullover up until it was stuck at his armpits. Martin moved his legs until he was straddling John's hips and lifted himself up to remove his shirt the rest of the way. He settled back down, but took a moment to gaze at John's eyes; specifically how dark and wide and HUNGRY they looked. He was a bit startled when John let out a low growl, grabbed Martin by his sides, and flipped them over.

Martin let out another moan as John arched against him and claimed his mouth, circling his tongue around Martin's and pressing into his mouth over and over. Finally, Martin decided that John had on far too many layers and tugged at his jumper. Taking the hint, John leaned up and pulled his jumper off, tossing it behind them. Both of them were breathing heavily at this point, so they almost welcomed the moment to catch their breath while John unbuttoned his shirt; Martin absentmindedly drew circles on John's hipbones while he waited for him to finish.

After what seemed like an eternity to Martin, John was finally free of clothing from the waist up and eagerly leaned back down where Martin waited for him with parted lips. At first it was much like before, the slippery press of lips and dance of  greedy tongues, which Martin happened to find fantastic, but then John managed to catch Martin's tongue between his lips and suck, which elicited guttural noises Martin had never heard himself make before. His hands fumbled clumsily as he ran them around John's back and waist, stopping just above where his jeans started.

John moved from his mouth to his jawbone to his neck, leaving wet kisses and small bites in his wake. Unable to control himself, Martin grabbed John's hips and rolled up against where he could feel John's erection pressing against his jeans. The throaty whimper from John was all the input he needed to do it again. And a few more times for good measure.

"Sweet _Christ_ , Martin" was all John could muster out before biting down on the muscle of his shoulder.

The pain was splitting and fantastic and perfect and caused a whine to briefly escape Martin's lips. He threw his arm over his face and panted as John started licking and nipping his way down his chest. John reached his abdomen and sucked a bruise on one side while furiously undoing Martin's jeans. He ran his hands underneath and Martin instinctively lifted his hips to aid in the removal.

He felt John's lips pressing against the soft area of skin right above the waistband of his pants and couldn't resist propping himself up on his elbows and looking down. At that moment, John lifted his head and gave Martin a look so earnest and wanton that it took all of Martin's control not to lose it right then.

John kept his eyes on Martin as he gently removed his pants and stroked his hands back up Martin' thighs. Martin shook with anticipation as his erection laid against his belly, wetting the area with precum. He gasped when John gripped the base of his cock and gave it a few long, luxurious strokes, twisting his hand a bit at the head. And he nearly cried out when he felt John's warm mouth enclose around the swollen tip and slowly lower.

Suddenly, every nerve in his body was focused and crackling in the one spot on his body where John was swirling his tongue and pulling up with just the right amount of suction and occasionally running his tongue along the slit before diving back down and then -

"Oh God....John, I'm going to...."

John made no movement that showed he had any inclination of stopping, Martin only heard the rip of a zipper and desperate, wet noises from John furiously rubbing himself off. For a split second, Martin felt selfish, like he should be assisting John somehow, but then the whole room became bright and Martin could feel his hips arching into John's mouth then jerking spastically until his whole body felt limp. After a beat, John flopped down beside him, panting just as hard as Martin was.

Martin rubbed his hands down his face, "I hope you know.... I really wasn't....expecting that when I invited you up."

"Hah, well.... I'm not actually sure if I was or not."

"Do you um....need a....flannel?"

John chuckled, "I should have thought of that...no, I'll just be going home without my vest top on."

"Will you - can you - would you, stay the night?" Martin turned his head to look at John, who had a confused look on his face, "Please?" He reached out and grabbed John's hand.

John smiled, "Of course, yeah!" He pulled Martin until he was lying across John's chest, "I do have a request, though."

Martin looked up from his new favorite place in the world, "Hmm?"

"Is there any way we could sleep in the bed rather than on the floor?"

Martin giggled, "I suppose we could, but," he looked down John's body, "Only if you take your jeans off."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, I have never written anything this smutty before (The farthest any of my characters have gone in any of my prior works has been drunkenly making out) so, seriously, feedback is so so so so so wanted!


	7. Breathe Out So I Can Breathe You In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Martin shows how his nickname COULD be "Five-Continents Crieff"....if he cared about that sort of thing. Or knew people that gave out nicknames

The last thing John remembered before he passed out was Martin curled up against him and nuzzling against his neck. The first thing he realises as he groggily wakes up is the absence of a Martin beside him. His confusion ended when he felt splayed fingers press into his upper thighs and warm air blow across his half-hard erection. He held his breath, hoping that he wasn't dreaming it.

He felt Martin's tongue - warm, wet, and rough in an absolutely perfect way - lick a broad stripe up the length of his cock and the guttural sound that left his mouth was utterly inhuman. One hand fisted the sheets while the other was balled up in his mouth so he could bite down if need be. The need came very quickly when he felt Martin dip down and take his balls into his mouth one after the other, rolling his tongue around each one. One of Martin’s hands left John's thigh and wrapped around John's cock, pulling with just enough pressure to make him tremble as Martin’s mouth remain focused his testicles, occasionally pausing to lick at the sensitive skin between them.

The combination of sensations was overwhelming and it didn't take more than a few minutes before John started shaking and crying out around his clenched fist. Martin leaned over him but kept his hand stroking until John was completely spent and gasping for air. He opened his eyes to see Martin looking down at him full of lust and awe. He tugged him down until Martin was back lying in his arms.

"That was... _fantastic_." John stuttered out, still shaking from aftershocks.

Martin snuggled closer to him, "You really think so?"

"Absolutely, it was brilliant and amazing. Couldn't think of a better way to start the day."

Martin rested his chin on John's chest and looked up at him, "Well, we don't have to start the day yet, do we?"

John chuckled, "No, I suppose not," He ran his free hand over Martin's shoulder, "You're awfully freckled..."

Martin smiled and rolled his eyes, "With observation skills like that, it's no wonder you're so good at solving crimes."

"Ta, thanks," John raised an eyebrow, "I was going to mention how much I liked it, but not with that attitude."

"Oh. You...like them?"

I think I just like YOU, "Yeah, I think I do."

John wrapped his arm tighter around Martin's back and tilted his head until he could nuzzle his nose into Martin's hair. His chest warmed when he heard Martin let out a content sigh. God, it had been awhile since he could just enjoy a moment with someone like this, just close contact and warm bodies and relaxed ecstasy.

Then, as if on cue, his phone buzzed from the nightstand. Martin gave him a smirk, then leaned over and grabbed it for him. Even as John took it in his hand, he wasn't sure if he actually wanted to check it or not.

Martin propped himself up on his elbows, "It's alright, you know, I suppose I should be surprised that we've had this long without him interrupting. From um...from what you've told me, at least."

John sighed and checked his texts, "Looks like Lestrade has already been to the flat. Sherlock wants me to meet him at the crime scene, fabulous," He looked back at Martin and ran his hand through his hair, further ruffling his sleep-mussed curls, "How long are you going to be in London, again?"

"Umm....just tonight. Well, most of tonight, I've got the early flight to Oslo..."

"Damn. Well, do you think you'll be free this afternoon or early evening? I mean, you look absolutely... fantastic right now, but I'd rather this wasn't the last time I saw you until God-knows-when."

Martin smiled at him, "I'd like that, actually. Do you think you'll be free, though?"

"Oh yeah, at some point Sherlock will run off on his own chasing some lead and I'll have nothing else to do until I hear from him."

"Hmm...he usually does that?"

"All too often," John paused to try and savor the last few moments he knew he had, "Huh, I really don't want to, but I've got to get a shower and get out of here before Sherlock deduces your hotel room and busts in here."

"Wait, that could really happen?"

"He has absolutely done it before." John replied, without thinking.

"Oh. Umm.... Are you going to shower here?"

"I was hoping to, if it's alright. You don't mind me using your shampoo?"

"No no, that's fine. You don't mind wearing the same clothes?"

"Unfortunately, it's something I've done before, not for awhile, though. But yeah, I have done my share of Walks of Shame," John rubbed a hand across his face

Martin shrugged his shoulders, "This'll just be a Crime Scene Investigation of Shame."

Martin giggled and John was unable to control himself; he tipped Martin's face up and planted what was supposed to be a gentle peck onto his lips. However, as soon as their lips met, Martin lifted up and pushed back against John, causing him to sharply inhale and tighten his grip in Martin's hair. Suddenly, John felt Martin's tongue slowing press into his mouth and he parted his lips on agreeance. Just as quickly, though, Martin pulled back and leaned his forehead against John's cheek.

"God, I'm so sorry, I know you need to leave...but you're just so...." Martin raised an eyebrow, "Yeah." Martin slowly leaned away from John and sat next against to him against the headboard.

"You know, I don't think I've ever had anyone apologise for finding me too attractive..."

John pressed one more kiss to Martin's temple, then reluctantly left the bed and headed to the shower. Only once the hot water started pouring on him did he realise that he was somehow already half-hard again. With an incredibly eager partner just fifteen feet away. He might just murder Sherlock bloody Holmes.

 

Forty-five minutes later, after dealing with the slowest cabbie in London, John found himself walking towards a side street somewhere in Wembley. Crime scene tape was taped all across the walkway and Donovan stood chatting with another officer, giving him a snide smile as he strode up.

"Oi! Good to see you finally here, I was worried you'd gone and got your life together."

John pursed his lips, "A pleasure to see as well, Sergeant Donovan."

He turned the corner quickly to avoid any snappy comebacks from her and noticed Sherlock standing next to a rather large corpse, which wasn't too unusual. Neither was the fact that he was currently gesturing wildly and yelling at an inspector John didn't immediately recognise. As John walked closer, he was able to finally make out whatever Sherlock was angry about.

"Why are you even QUESTIONING what I've told you? THIS is why I work with Lestrade! Where is Lestrade!"

"Now listen, this isn't Lestrade's case. This is MY case, and I've asked for your opinion, but I need some sort of...I don't know, proof maybe?"

John recognised the vaguely Welsh lilt of Hopkins, although he had been a Sergeant last time John had seen him. He wondered if part of Donovan's bitterness was based on having to see all sorts getting promoted before her. Hopkins certainly looked too young to be a DI.

Sherlock's eyes got wider when he saw John, "John! Finally! Ah...so you were busy then," He looked John up and down, "Well. Good to have you show up."

John squatted down next to the body, “What have you figured out so far?” He leaned down to examine the gaping wound on the victim’s neck.

Sherlock spoke to John but kept his eyes on Hopkins, “They should be looking a female, slightly shorter than the victim, who’s most likely been to the optometrist recently. However, I’m quite certain that something unsavory has happened to her, so they should probably work fast rather than standing here and arguing about it!”

Hopkins gestured towards the victim, “What on earth does any of that even mean? We’ve got no murder weapon, no witnesses, no clue what our assailant looks like.”

Sherlock clenched his teeth and handed John a pair of gloves, “John. What does the wound look like?”

John sighed and started pressing around it, “It’s a bit strange, in a circular shape, some entry points seem deeper than others...” _Oh_ , suddenly everything clicked, “I’d say this person was stabbed with a glass bottle, seems like the most obvious weapon.”

Sherlock smirked and walked down the small street then turned down an attached alley. John stood up and meant to follow him, but Sherlock quickly headed back with some pieces of green glass in a plastic bag.

“Here Hopkins, now you have a murder weapon. Maybe test it for prints? Or shall I do that for you as well?”

Hopkins furrowed his brow, “Well...how do you know something bad has happened to her, or that it’s a her?”

“Oh, haha! This almost makes me miss the early days of working with Lestrade!” Sherlock pranced over to the body and began, “Notice his clenched fist? What’s he clenching? A pair of glasses. Not just any glasses, no! Glasses that clearly belong to a woman based on their size and floral print. So, female assailant. Now, she didn’t enter this street intending to kill the victim because he was murdered with a broken beer bottle. So, the most obvious conclusion is that the victim was following her and she attempted to defend herself, only doing the job far too well.”

John sighed, “But why is she in danger _now_ , Sherlock?”

“Oh! Thank you, John. Honestly, that just started out as an assumption based on the other data, but then I happened to notice,” He walked back to the side alley and gestured for them to follow, “That there’s a tiny bit of glass shattered right over here. If you look closely, you’ll see that it’s the type of glass used in cell phones. So. Her glasses are smashed, she can’t see well, but takes her phone out anyway for help, but is taken before she’s able to. During the kidnapping, she drops her phone and part of the screen shatters. Whomever grabs her also picks the phone up, but doesn’t notice the teeny glass shards. Identify that body and I can guarantee you’ll find both the female assailant and her kidnappers.”

Hopkins grabbed his radio and walked away, trying his best to sound authoritative when giving his orders to his subordinates. John watched him go then flexed his fingers before walking over to where Sherlock was still examining the pavement where he’d found the glass shards.

“Morning to you too, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked up, “For what it’s worth, I do appreciate you coming despite being,” He looked John up and down again, “otherwise engaged. If nothing else, Hopkins will be much quicker to do exactly as I say without question in the future.”

Something seemed off to John, “Why is Hopkins here anyway? Thought you said Lestrade phoned you about the case this morning.”

The detective paused for a second, “He did. When he heard about it, he recommended that I stop by. And from the way Hopkins was muddling about without a clue, it seems like a good idea that he did.”

John whispered, even though all of NSY was safely out of earshot, “So what’s our next step, then? I’m assuming you already know who our victim is.”

Sherlock stood up and grinned, “Of course! Your next step however, is to go back to Baker Street and get a shower, though,” He leaned close to John then back, “Feel free to tell... _Martin_ that his cologne is rather nice.” Sherlock twirled his coat and started walking away.

“Hold on, wait a second! You call me out here for five minutes? All the way out here in Wembley? Was it just to prove a point so the other DIs will start keening to you like Lestrade does?”

 Sherlock stopped abruptly and turned back around, “John, I am trying to rescue a woman before harm comes to her. You are wearing last night’s clothes and most likely haven’t had any tea yet, which I know makes you grumpy. Right now, I have a small lead that I can more than handle on my own. Right now, I’d rather you go rest up, have some tea, take some paracetamol, and wait for me back at the flat. You know that I don’t often offer such courtesies so you should probably take advantage of this occasion.”

With that, Sherlock continued walking back to the main road, typing on his phone the entire way. John watched him leave then took a deep breath and checked his phone. He wondered how soon would be too soon to text Martin...surely he should give the man some time to himself. Perhaps he should rest a bit, have a few cups of tea, then ask Martin to meet for lunch. Satisfied with his reasoning, John pocketed his phone and hoped that he’d be able to catch a cab easily, the tube ride from Wembley would be awful.


	8. Hold You In

Martin let out a groan and felt his shoulders shudder before every muscle in his body slackened. He rested his palms and forehead against the cool tile of the shower for a few moments while he tried to catch his breath. He had really tried to wait as long as possible after John left; how long, exactly, was acceptable to wait after someone left before you masturbated to the thought of them?

Embarrassingly, this wasn’t the first time he’d done it - think of John, that is. The first time had been shortly after John had said that he wasn’t a “bad-looking bloke.” And he hadn’t even intended to then, the smirk John had made at the bar just surfaced in his mind the next time Martin had decided to stroke himself. After that, Martin would bite his lip and picture John’s smirk or John’s chuckle or even John lifting his eyebrows and sighing.

Just now, though, had been different. That morning Martin had been able to stare right down at John and watch his face as he was coming undone. And that look alone would be enough fodder to last Martin for awhile if he wasn’t able to meet up with John again today. Hell, even thinking about that look was enough for the heat to start pooling in his belly again as he washed conditioner out of his hair.  

He turned the water off and started toweling himself off, taking special care around his groin. No matter what, he wasn't about to expend himself again, he wasn't a bloody teenager. His phone started ringing before he had a chance to get dressed, so he wrapped a towel around his waist and left the bathroom to answer it.

It was still too soon to hear from John, but he was hopeful as he reached for his phone. Unfortunately, it was just the pilot for the Oslo flight, Julian, letting him know that the alternative had changed from Copenhagen to Arendal due to inclimate weather. And to Martin, that meant a shorter flight. If he was lucky, Julian sometimes let him take the reins on shorter flights, to "give him practice" as he said.

His phone beeped while he was still discussing the flight plan, which made him eager to finish the phone call. Unfortunately, Julian enjoyed chit-chat and wanted to know how Martin's stay in London was going.

"Fine. Fine fine fine, very fine, actually. Just....enjoying being back in the United Kingdom, of course."

"Ah yes! It must be so nice for you to be back in your home country! Did you visit your family?"

"Oh...umm...no actually. They live a few hours away and I just...didn't have time this visit. My - my mum did call yesterday and she's....she's well."

"So good to hear! What else have you been up to? London is a fantastic city. I, myself, wandered around the British Museum yesterday."

"I uh... I haven't been to the British Museum in awhile. Did you enjoy it?" Martin rubbed his forehead, wishing he knew a way to shorten the conversation.

"I try to go every time I'm in the city, it's always so insightful."

"That's, brilliant, Julian. Listen I'm...actually meeting my brother, I mean my cousin, for lunch so I'm going to have to let you go, I'm so sorry..."

"No need to apologise Martin! I will see you bright and early, eh?"

"Of course, of course! Bright and early! Goodbye Julian."

Martin waited until he could hear Julian give parting greetings before hanging up to avoid appearing rude. As quickly as he could, he checked his texts and smiled when he saw that his newest one was, indeed, from John. Turns out he'd have the afternoon off after all and wanted to meet Martin for coffee in an hour.

He typed out an excited reply and flopped down on the bed. For once, there was something happening during his day that he was looking forward to besides going over various flight plans. In fact, for once, there was something in his life he was looking forward to besides flying. He'd be lying to himself if he said that didn't scare him a little bit.

The last guy he'd dated had been an aeronautics engineer. Martin had assumed they would share the same passion, but at the end of the day, Josh had wanted to talk about anything but planes. The closest he'd come had been Teresa, but cute, nervous pilots can only be novelties for princesses for so long.

Martin rubbed his hand haphazardly over his chest and tried his hardest to think of anything but John. To think of anything but John's flushed cheeks and the muscles in his biceps and how lustful his eyes can look and...

Dear God. Martin rubbed his eyes and tried to will away the erection that was currently pressing against his towel. With a frustrated sigh, he flung himself off the bed and opened his suitcase to find something to wear.

He checked his reflection in the mirror far more than necessary before finally heading outside to meet John. It wasn't too far to walk and he'd intentionally left himself enough time to do so, wanting to enjoy as much of the London air as possible before being subjected to whatever icy weather was waiting for him in Oslo.

John was already sitting in the booth in the cafe when Martin walked in. He looked up and waved Martin over, pushing the crossword he'd been doing aside and giving Martin an extremely cheeky grin. It nearly made Martin melt.

"I um...went ahead and grabbed a coffee for you, I hope that's okay. Two sugars, right?"

Martin smiled as he took a sip, "Yes...umm...how do you know that?"

"I seem to remember you mentioning it at some point last night..."

"Oh! You mean when you tried to insist that tea was better than coffee?"

"Now hold on, that's because it is. What kind of Brit are you?"

Martin leaned closer, "I also absolutely detest biscuits. Don't tell anyone though, they might retract my citizenship."

"Well we can't have that, can we? Your mum would cry, no doubt."

"Oh, absolutely," Martin took another sip of coffee, "So...are you able to tell me about your case?"

"Honestly, I don't know much. Big guy got stabbed in the neck. Looks like he was trying to attack a woman and she defended herself with a broken beer bottle. Sherlock seems to think she was kidnapped afterwards so the NSY are trying to identify the victim."

"Do you think she was kidnapped?"

"Seems plausible, I'd say. Just from what I saw at the scene. He's probably still chasing his lead. I'll probably hear from him in a couple of hours...What about you though? What have you been up to since I left?”

“Uh...just a shower and...well, I did hear from the captain for the flight to Oslo tomorrow. They’ve changed our alternate, so it’ll probably be a shorter flight. And...well, this particular captain has, in the past, allowed me to take full control on shorter flights.”

“Really? That’s fantastic! So you’d be flying the whole way? Takeoff, landing, the whole thing, eh?”

“Uh yeah, the whole thing. I’m actually fairly excited about it.”

"Well, cheers! I think congratulations are in order...," John licked his lips, "You know, my flat isn't that far from here, just a couple of blocks."

Martin nearly choked on his coffee, "Oh! You mean that sort of congratulations...?"

"Actually, I was really just looking for an excuse, to be honest."

"Umm....yeah. That could be - would be nice."

John winked at him, "Well then you better finish your coffee."

For a second, Martin just sat there, unable to believe his luck. Surely John meant something else? He couldn't mean....well, that couldn't possibly be what he was proposing. But here he was, giving Martin a positively devious grin and rubbing his thumb slowly around the rim of his coffee cup. Dear God, Martin could actually feel his pants getting tighter.

He managed to choke out, "Perhaps I could drink it on the way..."

John stood up immediately and motioned for him to follow; Martin clumsily scrambled out of his seat, almost knocking his coffee over in the process. He noticed John trying to stifle a giggle and it only made him blush harder.

They walked on the sidewalk near shoulder-to-shoulder and all Martin could think about was how much he wanted to reach out and take John’s hand. He even glanced down at it a few times, possible even intentionally brushed his fingertips against John’s, but couldn’t bring himself to make the final move.

John smiled again as he unlocked the front door, “Now, I promise I will show you the place later, but right now I just want to get you in my room as quickly and quietly as possible.”

“Yeah, yeah, of cou-”

John put a finger to Martin’s lips and whispered “I am very serious. My landlady might be home and if she’s here, she will never leave us alone. Do you understand?”

Martin just nodded and followed John up the stairs, stepping as softly as he could. He couldn’t hear anything coming from the basement apartment, but kept walking as quietly as John was just in case. At the first landing, John held his hand up and peered in briefly into what looked like a living area. It only took a moment for Martin to realise that he was checking to see if Sherlock was there. Looking back at Martin, he smiled and bit his lip before gesturing upstairs with his eyes.

Once they finally made it to John’s room, Martin found himself pushed against the door as soon as it was shut. John pressed his hands against Martin’s hips and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

“All this sneaking around is making me feel like a teenager again...”

Before Martin could respond, John nibbled on the lobe of his ear and tugged it a bit before sloppily licking around the shell. It was almost embarrassing how such a simple act could make him tremble. Martin turned his head and caught John’s lips with his own, not even bothering to press gently, just trying to taste every bit of coffee that still lingered on the inside of John’s mouth. He inhaled deeply as John crushed him against the door, pushing nearly every inch of their body together. After running his hands up John’s back, he gripped his shoulderblades and was unable to stop himself from rutting against him.

John pulled back briefly, “Mmm...careful, bullet wound,” Before resuming their reckless kissing.

Martin tried to talk but could only get a few words out at time, “God I’m.....so sorry....”

He tried to move his hand but John lifted his hand to stop him, “No it’s....fine....it’s fine...just a little....to the right....there....there that’s better.”

Martin smiled and resumed grinding his clothed erection against John’s, moaning ever so slightly as he did. Suddenly, John deepened the kiss even more and moved his hands to the clasp and zipper of Martin’s jeans, freeing first Martin’s erection then his own. Martin’s knees almost buckled at the very first contact between their cocks and he nearly cried out when John took both of them in his hand and started stroking gently.

Opening his eyes, Martin kept eye contact with John as he broke the kiss and licked his own palm slowly before placing it beneath John’s slick hand. He watched John roll his eyes and lean his head back before coming back forward and burying it in Martin’s shoulder. It wasn’t even clear at this point which sounds were coming from whom, only that they were thick and furiously indecent. All at once, John increased his speed and started pulling their foreskins over the head and pushing it back down. It only took a half dozen strokes before all the heat in Martin’s body seemed to flow straight to his groin and his body started shaking.

Reacting to Martin’s shudders, John bit down on the skin between Martin’s shoulder and neck, bringing forth the orgasm that was just waiting to be released. It was only a second later that Martin felt John’s body rumble against his and his hand became warm and wet and covered with their combined ejaculate. John took a step back and looked around for something to wipe them off with, but before he could reach for anything, Martin gently grabbed his hand and brought the webbing between his thumb and forefinger into his mouth, obscenely licking off as much come as possible.

With a growl, John began biting and licking Martin’s neck, “Fucking...Christ....Martin...you can’t...just do that....”

Martin gasped and ran his hands under John’s shirt, “You just taste...so amazing...how do you expect....me to resist?”

John leaned up and whispered in his ear, "Oh Captain, do you have any idea what I'd like to do to you?" He hurriedly pushed his jeans the rest of the way down before doing the same to Martin.

Martin's legs suddenly felt very weak, "I think I'd like to know..."

"I want to throw you on my bed and fuck you senseless," John started kissing his way around Martin's jawline, "Until you can barely walk," He moved around to Martin's other ear, "Until I'm all you can think about tomorrow when you're forced to sit in your pilot's chair for hours and hours..."

Martin gasped, "Oh really?"

"Hah, yes really."

Martin pulled back, "No I mean, 'Oh really, do you have the refractory period of a seventeen year old?'"

John narrowed his eyes at him, "Killing the mood a bit..."

"Then let me rephrase it: I'd love to get in that bed with you and kiss every inch of you, until you're ready to fuck me senseless."

John started undoing the buttons on Martin's shirt, "That is a much better way of putting it."

Martin stepped out of his jeans then let John tug him by the shirt-tails until they reached John's bed. From there, Martin hurriedly finished removing his shirt while impatiently watching John do the same. When John finally pulled his undershirt over his head, Martin's eyes immediately went to his shoulder and saw the deep scarring. He wondered why he hadn't noticed it before, but the lights had been dimmed last night and he had been focused on...other things...this morning.

Before he could stare, John pulled him onto the bed on top of him and ran his hands up and down Martin's sides. Martin paused for a second, allowing himself time to enjoy how gorgeous John looked like this; the blush that was covering his cheeks and chest, the muscles in his upper arm flexing, the ridiculous smile on his face. At that moment, his parted mouth looked perfectly inviting, but Martin instead pressed his lips to John’s collarbone, where he could see a slick layer of sweat that he desperately wanted to taste. He lazily dragged his lips and tongue all across his chest, pressing wet kisses along the way, then lowered his head and twisted his tongue in a circle around one of John’s nipples. John immediately arched and gasped, fisting his fingers into Martin’s hair.

Just as Martin was licking his way to John’s other nipple, he heard the frenetic staccato of someone climbing stairs in a hurry. John gave a growl of frustration and covered his eyes with his palms. A deep, booming voice was excitedly calling John’s name, as it came closer, John hurriedly slid off the bed and opened the door a crack to yell that he would be right down. Unfortunately, that did nothing to deter Sherlock from running straight up to John’s room, bursting in before he could be stopped. It was all Martin could do to cover his lower half up with a sheet.

“Oh...I see,” Sherlock froze just inside the doorway, “Well, I’ll just be downstairs, whenever you’re ready,” He walked out, but poked his head back in briefly, “It is in your best interest to hurry though, this is a matter of somewhat importance.”

John frustratingly slammed the door and leaned against it, “Jesus, Martin. I am so incredibly sorry...”

Martin fidgeted with the sheet covering his obvious erection, “Should I just...would it be better if I just left?”

John moved quickly and sat on the bed next to Martin, “Honestly? Not really. I’m not going to pressure you, but if you’d like, it would be nice to have you down for a cuppa. If

anything, Sherlock seeing that you’re an actual, interesting person might cause him to respect my privacy a bit more.”

“You don’t think it would be awkward? Considering...”

John brushed some of Martin’s hair back, “There’s nothing there, trust me. I’m quite happy with the very sexy man that is currently mostly naked in my bed.”

Martin raised an eyebrow, “‘Very sexy’?”

“If no one has ever told you before, then that’s ridiculous,” John started dressing, obviously reluctantly, "I should get downstairs though, it could be important," He put his hand on Martin's knee, "And I do mean it, please come and have a cuppa."

After John had finished cleaning himself up and went downstairs, Martin continued sitting on the bed with his knees drawn up, chewing on his lip. On the one hand, he was very aware at this point of the scrutinizing eye of Sherlock Holmes and wasn't keen on the idea of being underneath it. On the other though, John had asked him to. And perhaps, maybe, it couldn't be that bad.


	9. And Out Of the Red

Sherlock was already typing away, on his own laptop for once, when John entered the common room, straightening his jumper subconsciously. Out of habit, he sat in his chair and waited for the detective to clue him in. After a few moments of silence, he wondered why he bothered and instead went to go put the kettle on.

"I assume you'd like tea as well." John offered from the kitchen.

"John, what do you know about the PKK?"

"I'm sorry, the what?"

"The Kurdistan Worker's Party. Surely you had run-ins with them."

“Wow..umm..I know that they’re Kurdish and they don’t particularly like being a part of Turkey, which isn’t really all that close to Afghanistan. Which is where I was stationed. Please don’t tell me you’ve deleted basic geography.”

Sherlock waved his hand and stood up, “No matter. The corpse,” Sherlock looked up and caught John’s disapproving eye, “Sorry, the victim today has been linked to the PKK in the past...”

John rolled his eyes, “And how exactly did you figure that out? Just because he was a big guy that looked Middle-Eastern?”

He began pacing, “It started there, yes. Muscular fellow like that following a woman down a side street with ill intent? Could be your standard idiot attempting sexual assault but there aren’t any bars or clubs nearby so that makes it slightly less plausible. Then there’s his murderer, she’s able to think quickly and...well...brutally. The body didn’t have any bruises or scratches on it, just the stab wound in the neck. So she didn’t try to fight back against him, she immediately went for a killing blow,” He folded his hands in front of his face, “And that’s...interesting.”

John stood silent for a moment, leaning against the back of his chair, “But wait...how is the PKK involved?”

“Oh, what about the PKK?” Both of them looked up to see Martin enter the living area properly dressed if a slight bit unkempt.

Sherlock strode over to him, “Do you know anything about the PKK, _pilot_?”

Martin seemed uneasy with the lack of personal space, “I um...well, we’re supposed to be aware of all potential terrorist threats should, you know, the worst happen.”

“Ah yes, plane hijackings. Nasty things.”

“Sherlock, can you not-"

Martin gave a wavering smile, “Oh no, John, it’s fine.”

Sherlock stared into Martin's eyes and smirked, “Yes John, _it’s fine_.”

“But umm...it always helps to know where groups or pockets of groups could be located. The last thing you want is to be piloting a flight from Istanbul to St. Petersburg and have some Chechnyans try to take over.” Martin chuckled nervously.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked away, “Yes, that could be troublesome, I imagine.” He flopped back on the couch, clearly bored with Martin’s lack of useful information.

“Well, that’s why we had to take note when a small group of PKK members moved to London - “

Sherlock sprung up, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh, yes. Ahmed Serhat moved here about five years ago. Not alone though, he brought what he listed as, I think, ‘household staff’ with him. He insists that he’s no longer connected with the PKK, but given that he was quite high up with the..oh what was it called...”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “The People’s Defence Force?”

Martin smiled, “Yes! In the official documentation, he claims to have deflected. But, we can never be too careful.”

Sherlock started pacing excitedly, “Oh that is brilliant!" He hurriedly threw his coat on and started wrapping his scarf, "Come John, we've got a man to visit."

"You can't be serious, I just put the kettle on Sherlock," He stepped closer to the detective so he could whisper, "And Martin's here, don't be rude."

Martin fidgeted by the door, "Oh no, it's fine. I should be getting back anyway, to um....pack up and get everything ready. I think my flight leaves in...twelve hours."

Sherlock strode over and stood in front of Martin, "Well, Captain Crieff, you've actually been quite useful, even if you don't realise how or why," then he leaned down and whispered in Martin's ear so low John couldn't hear him, before rising back to his full height, "Perhaps the two of you could go and, say your goodbyes, while I send a few texts?"

John let his confusion show, "Wait, what?"

Sherlock's eyes got big, "Yes, go. Hurry. Time is actually of the essence."

John rolled his eyes but followed a sheepish Martin down the stairs and back down to the landing. Thankfully, Mrs. Hudson still appeared to be out, so he didn't have to worry about her nosing around. Martin moved to walk out the door but John grabbed him by the hips and pulled him close.

"Look, again, I'm really sorry. For all that."

"Oh really, don't be. He's really not as bad as his reputation makes him out to be."

John leaned back, "You really think so?"

Martin smiled, "Yeah. I mean, he's not as funny or interesting or handsome as his blogger..." Each word brought Martin a little closer to John's face until their lips finally met.

The kiss was slow and languorous, just a gentle slide with wanting fingers gripped tight to hips. John brought his hand up to tangle his fingers through Martin's hair, being careful not to pull. Martin tilted his head more towards John and inhaled deeply before pulling away.

John ran his hand down the side of Martin's head, "God you are so...so...so..."

Martin turned his head when he heard footsteps, "I so need to head out," He smiled and planted a final kiss on John's cheek, "Have fun and be safe. Please be safe. And text me when you solve it."

"You flatter him too much, Martin, I'll be the one solving it." Sherlock boomed down from where he was still making his descent.

Martin chuckled, "Ah yes, my mistake. Well, let me how it turns out."

"John finds it very difficult to not pontificate and romanticise our cases, so I'm sure he'll do so. It was a pleasure, by the way, and I took the liberty of calling a cab for you. Should be here by now."

"Oh um...thanks. I guess I'll text you later then, John?"

John smiled as he opened the door for him, "Of course. And I promise to be a little bit safe. But just a little bit." He gave Martin a quick press on the lips and squeezed his hand before letting him finally leave.

He shut the door and smiled happily before turning to the detective behind him who seemed preoccupied with tugging on his leather gloves.

"You're being awfully...nice."

Sherlock looked up, "I'm afraid I don't follow, aren't I always nice?"

"No, no you're not. In fact, you're often quite the opposite. But you didn't call Martin by the wrong name, you didn't insult his intelligence or make jokes at his expense - "

Sherlock shrugged, "I like him."

"I'm sorry, you what?"

"He's reasonably intelligent, from the texts he's sent you he seems 'funny' and 'interesting', and he's often away so he won't interfere with our cases."

"That would be your main concern."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, "Of course! Unless he turns out to have some dangerous secret, I find him preferential to the usual drabble of men and women you chat up in bars. And he is obviously good at tending to your...well..." He gestured towards John's groin.

"Oi! Alright. I get your point. I guess I'm just surprised. What did you whisper to him, anyway?"

"Come along, John. We need to get there before the police."

 With that Sherlock smirked and flew out the door, no doubt magically hailing a cab for them. John took a second to wonder how he constantly got himself into situations where he found himself heading to God-knows-where for the sake of a case. As always, he clenched his fists and followed, muttering _Insufferable git_ under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not actually sure if airline pilots would have any sort of in-depth knowledge of former members of terrorists organisations (for instance, Martin knowing Ahmed Serhat's name) but I thought it would be a neat way for him to get involved and maybe win over Sherlock a bit


	10. Out Of Her Head She Sang

“Post Take-off Checks, complete?”

“Oh umm..ummm...yes. Yes, sir.”

“Martin, I don’t understand your nervousness. We _have_ flown together before.”

“I know Herc, it’s just that...well, I can’t explain it.”

Herc leaned back, “I understand, Martin. I can imagine that seeing me isn’t all that pleasant, probably brings back memories and whatnot. And even though I can’t very well help it, I am sorry for that. And I am sorry that Julian had to bow out at the last minute.”

“No it’s fine Herc, it was just unexpected,” Martin paused, checking the warning lights for the millionth time, “How is...Carolyn, by the way? I always mean to get in touch with her but...”

“Oh don’t worry about it, Martin. Her and her ridiculous dog are doing just fine. Although I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.”

“I guess I’m just not sure what to say, you know?”

“You worry far too much. I can assure you that she holds no ill-will. For God’s sakes, she even helped Douglas get a job at Thomas Cook.”

“Yes, he mentioned that when I saw him recently.”

“Recently, eh? How is humble little Dougie doing?”

“Douglas is umm...fine. He seems fine.”

Herc raised an eyebrow, “Oh, you didn’t tell him?”

Martin returned his confused gaze, “I’m sorry, didn’t tell him what?”

“You’re really so cute, you know that? I think you should know that Carolyn and I have had a small bet, actually a rather large one, on when you were going to tell him.”

Martin widened his eyes and shook his head, “I’m a bit lost here still, Herc, tell him what? Oh...wait you mean...”

“Yes.”

He rubbed his hand over his face, “Oh God, have I always been so obvious?”

“I should think so; I noticed right away.”

“Well...for what it’s worth...I did actually...try to tell him. Apparently he already knew.”

“That’s fantastic, Martin! No wonder you’ve been in such high spirits.”

“Have I?”

“Of course! I know we don’t see each other often but, like I said, easy to read. I assumed you’d met someone but I didn’t want to seem...nosy. It’s about time you and Dougie got together, and Carolyn will be overjoyed to hear that she owes me a couple hundred pound.”

“Hah...that’s lovely. The problem is, though, that we didn’t.”

Herc’s face fell, “Really? Well that means...oh Martin, I’m so sorry.”

“It's fine, fine, fine, really. You were right though, I did meet someone.”

“Well that’s splendid news! Good to know I was right about something... So what is he...or she...like?”

Martin grinned despite himself, “He’s...quite amazing. He’s a doctor...and a detective, kind of...he has a fantastic sense of humour...” Martin looked down and smirked, "And I don't think he really likes planes, but he always seems interested when I talk about them."

"Oh Martin, you're so very cute when you're smitten. When did you meet him?"

"Huh, umm....as it happens, we met the same day that I....saw Douglas."

"Oh. Oh...well..."

"What?"

"Well, I'm sure you're not, but doesn't that seem a bit of a coincidence? Are you sure you really like him or...do you just like someone that likes you?" Herc scrunched his face, "Oh gosh, that sounds so much worse than I meant it to sound."

Martin chuckled nervously, "No, no it's fine. Hah, it's still...fairly new...really new actually, and rather nice. It would be silly, you know, for me to pine for Douglas forever, especially when he's made it clear that he's not interested. And why would I, after all, when John is so...so...amazing and he likes me, you know? And I... I think I'm pretty fond of him, too. So, so, yes, I do like that he likes me - I mean, it's a fantastic feeling - but I also really like him. I _really_ like him."

Herc let them sit in silence for a few moments, opening and closing his mouth a few times before finally saying, "Martin, would you like to radio ATC for the weather report?"

"What? Really? Are...are you sure?"

"Oh absolutely. You've just made my day. Carolyn owes me a quite large sum of money, not to mention that she will also be forced to go to an opera, as well. And well," Herc sighed, "It's nice to see you happy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my...if I'd known how much fun Herc would be to write, I would have included him in EVERY chapter!


	11. When I Sing Along With You

John's knees were killing him. For the past half hour, Sherlock had insisted they stay crouched near a small pathway that led to an old, stately manor. As usual, John was just told to wait, without being given much information besides that. Sherlock kept checking his phone and frowning, so whomever they were waiting on seemed to be late.

Finally, John had enough of the silence, "Sherlock, my leg - "

"Still very psychosomatic."

"Not really the point. What are we waiting for?"

"Shh! We're waiting for Lestrade."

"Lestrade?"

"And Hopkins. But mostly Lestrade."

"Why are we waiting for Lestrade?"

Sherlock smirked, "Possible arrest of an international terrorist? How could he resist?"

"I'm sorry, international terrorist?"

"Ahmed Serhat. Come on, John, so far so obvious."

"Not to me, Sherlock. And you know that."

"Remind me to thank your boyfriend for the tip, by the way."

"Hey! He's not my..." John paused, not sure if he wanted to finish that sentence.

Sherlock smirked and murmured, "Not yet."

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Oh look, London's finest have finally arrived."

Sherlock stood up and swirled his coat - John had never been able to figure out if it was a conscious or unconscious action - as Lestrade's cruiser pulled up near them. He was closely followed by a couple more cars, but Sherlock strode right over to the greying Detective Inspector.

"Lestrade, so nice of you to finally join us. Maybe though, fewer lights and sirens? We don't actually want to announce our presence."

Lestrade held up his hand, "Listen Sherlock, it takes a bit of time to get a warrant with what little information you gave me. It also took us a bit to positively identify the body because, for some reason, his ID was missing from his wallet," He raised his voice on the last words, causing Sherlock to shirk back and look guilty, "Look, Sherlock, you're brilliant, but for the last time, I need you to work WITH us. Especially the young guys like Hopkins. I'm not going to be around forever, you know."

Sherlock looked taken aback, "Lestrade, that's - "

"In a police capacity, obviously. Now I appreciate you actually waiting for us this time, but this is still Hopkins's investigation and he's still going to lead it."

"What? No! That's - "

"Hopkins will lead. The two of you are going in first and you'll let us know if you need backup," Lestrade leaned closer, "And I'm sure you already have one of my badges on you, so use it if you need to. And I'll be right back here if you need me."

Lestrade gave Sherlock a pat on the back and watched as the detective huffed away towards Hopkins, then crossed his arms and stood next to John. Then, suddenly, John noticed how grey Lestrade was. And old. And in control. And how comfortable Sherlock seemed around him. Suddenly a lot of things made sense.

He followed Lestrade's lead and kept out of sight of the front door, but could hear Hopkins explaining to whoever answered the door - possibly a maid from the sound of it - that the body was identified as someone who had worked in the house. Hopkins politely asked if they could come in and take a look around and the maid stupidly said yes.

Lestrade scoffed, "God, we wouldn't have even needed a warrant."

John heard the door shut and knew that now all they had to do was wait. He watched Lestrade look down and exhale sharply. Lestrade rubbed his forehead with obvious worry and John decided to take his opportunity alone with the DI.

"So, it's probably not my business, Greg, but how long... have you been shagging my flatmate?"

Lestrade's face turned towards him with wide eyes, "Shh! Keep it down mate," He glanced around him, "And no it's not your business but... Nine years."

"Nine years, Lestrade?!"

"Shhhh, for fuck's sake! On and off, obviously. Why do you think he was always so keen to tell me when my wife was cheating again? I swear, I think a few times he actually paid blokes to hit on her in bars.”

John shook his head, “Wow...nine years? Really? Huh...how have I never noticed?”

“Well, like I said, it hasn’t exactly been consistent, but I suppose some signs were there. Who do you think stayed with him that one week both you and Mrs. Hudson went on holiday around the same time? Why do you think he goes through phases where he always wants to stay late to ‘look over evidence’ with me? And you can’t tell me that you didn’t notice when we were probably the only two missing from your wedd...ing reception. Oh. Sorry, John, probably shouldn’t have mentioned that last one.” Lestrade put his hand on John’s shoulder, but looked away from his face.

“It’s....uh...it’s fine, Greg. It’s really fine. I know you weren’t...trying to bring it up,” John paused, “Let’s just uh...move on shall we?”

“Right. Yeah. So about the case - “

“Not moving on, entirely. Seriously, though. He told me how you got him involved in the police force, even how you helped him along when he was overcoming....well, you know....but, well, given his blunt nature, I guess I’d expect him to mention this as well.” He gestured towards Lestrade.

“Please. About seven years ago there was an eight-month stretch where the wife had left me again - I thought for sure this time - and that wanker was at my shitty apartment damn near every night. That was the first time I tried to actually, I don’t know, try and MAKE something out of it, but he wouldn’t hear of it,” Lestrade sighed, “I mean, I know now that he was just, y’know, scared I would go back to my wife and, well, he wasn’t wrong that time.”

John smiled and exhaled through his teeth, “Well, he’s rarely wrong.”

“Yeah, trust me, I know. One of us would always shirk away when it got serious. And, honestly, I thought he was done with me for good when you showed up.”

“What? Really?” For some reason, John had almost forgotten about their time together before the Fall, when it had seem preposterous for Sherlock to have romantic feelings, when John had steadfastly stuffed down all of his feelings.

Lestrade scoffed, “Puh, he’s got an authority kink like you wouldn’t believe; I naturally assumed that ‘military’ would be part of it.”

“Right. Thank you, Greg.”

Lestrade threw his hands up playfully, “C’mon, John. You asked. But your continued mantra of ‘Not Gay’ - which by the way is a bit rich considering you have, what?, a boyfriend now?”

John made a face, “I’m just...not a fan of labels.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes, “Whatever you say, mate. Anyways, between...that...and the lovely finality of my divorce,” He quirked an eyebrow, “The past two years have actually been rather nice.”

John had to smile, “Actually, that’s good. I’m...in a strange way...happy for you.”

“Thanks, mate,” Greg gave him a pat on the back, “Although it would be nice if he ever, eventually decided to take our whole thing seriously.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a door being burst open. They both turned to see a rather large olive-skinned man handcuffed and being pushed towards a cruiser by Hopkins. Closely behind was an obviously shaken woman holding her arms close to her chest while being guided by Sherlock’s hands on her shoulders towards Lestrade. Both men noticed him whispering softly into her ear as they walked closer.

“...and let me introduce you to my assistant John Watson and DI Lestrade,” He stepped away from the woman and stood back to his full height, “Gentlemen, this is Rojin Serhat, our female assailant and kidnap victim all rolled into one,” He turned back towards her, “Perhaps you could give your statement to Lestrade? Might as well let John hear it, too. He does so love this part.”

John rolled his eyes but stayed anyway, because, well, Sherlock was right. The thrill of the chase was one thing, but finding out the answer to each criminal puzzle was what truly made the blood pump through his veins. And he didn’t crouch in a bloody alley for nearly thirty minutes just to leave without hearing the woman’s story.

Rojin focused her deep, chocolate eyes on Lestrade and began, “I suppose I should start at the beginning? It’s not difficult, being a teenage Kurd in Turkey, to get involved with the PKK. I was very young when I started going to rallies and when I met Ahmed for the first time. Young enough to make rash decisions but too young to understand the consequences of those decisions. That is how I found myself married to Ahmed - “

Sherlock cut in, “Sorry, but could we skip ahead a bit?”

Both John and Lestrade made vicious faces, but Rojin just raised an eyebrow and continued, “As I said, I married Ahmed quite young, before I never really knew him. I only saw him as a passionate, idealistic leader. I had no idea of his cruelty. You must believe me when I say that I have had no part with the Hêzên Parastina Gel - “

Sherlock leaned towards them, “The People’s Defense Force, the armed part of the group, quite violent.”

Rojin nodded, “Yes. And when I discovered his involvement, I fought him until he agreed to a divorce. It wasn’t easy, but I wouldn’t settle for anything less. I assumed that was the end, but when Ahmed found out I had a new lover - “

“Havi Ghazi?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Ahmed falsified papers during the ceasefire and managed to have him thrown in jail before he could leave the country for Iraq. I came here to find evidence of Ahmed’s deceit.”

“Which is how you came to be followed by Idris Mahmoud, our victim in the alleyway, correct?”

“I took pictures of Ahmed’s email correspondences with my phone while no one was home. Unfortunately, Idris arrived back before anyone else. He has always been a violent man, I saw him once brutalising bystanders at a rally. I knew I had to incapacitate him quickly once he threatened me,” Her eyes were fully on Lestrade, “Surely you will see that I acted solely in self-defense?”

Lestrade crossed his arms, “I will try my hardest, but unfortunately, it’s not my sole decision. I’ll have to discuss it with Hopkins as well.”

“I understand. All I ask is that Havi be freed. He is an innocent man, kind and gentle, not at all like the violent creature who had him falsely imprisoned.” She sneered towards the police car currently holding a glowering Ahmed in the backseat.

Sherlock clapped his hands together and grinned, “Right. Well, perhaps it’s time to take Rojin to the station? Maybe even stop by a hospital, Ahmed Serhat’s men aren’t exactly gentle.” He rubbed his hand across Rojin’s shoulder before nodding towards Lestrade.

Lestrade took her gently by the elbow, “Yeah, let’s get everything you've told me typed up. Do you have a place to stay tonight? We can set you up somewhere, for your safety...”

Sherlock smirked as they walked away then turned to John, “So...dinner? It’s a bit of a ritual at this point, isn’t it?”

John had to chuckle, “Sounds fantastic, although I am curious as to how you and Hopkins managed to do all that so quickly.”

“All what?”

“Oh come on! You two were in the house what, fifteen minutes? And you managed to get a confession from an international terrorist and rescue his kidnapped victim?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I discussed it with Hopkins. We decided not to let on that we suspected anything about Rojin, only that we were investing Idris’s death. We were pleasantly surprised to see that it was only him and his housekeeper home, so Hopkins kept him occupied with circling questions while I inspected the house. It didn’t take long, just a hidden door disguised as a wall, he hadn’t even done a proper job of hiding the hinges,” He caught John’s gaze, “Well, some people may have been fooled. But I’ve seen better.”

John exhaled loudly, “Of course you have.”

“So, are you going to tell the pilot?”

“Well yeah, of course. Not right this second though.”

“Hmm. I assumed you’d be eager to tell him all about a case that seemed to show how important _love_ was.”

“Oh really?”

“Oh yes. Sentiment can be such a strong motivator. It can cause a woman to travel over 2,000 miles, break into her ex-husband’s house - the most dangerous man she knows, and defend herself against a brute twice her size. Quite remarkable.”

“Apparently it can also cause a bristling consulting detective to show affinity for greying detective inspectors, despite said consulting detective’s righteous objection to anything of the sort.”

Sherlock crinkled his nose, “So Lestrade told you, then? I’m sure you have questions.”

John chuckled again, “Not really, to be honest. It’s interesting, to say the least. But not surprising. And don’t...don’t worry. I’m not the sort to pine longingly after someone after they’ve made their...feelings clear. So you needn’t worry about that.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Oh.”

“Wembley has a number of good Indian takeaways, fancy a curry?”

“I always fancy a curry.”

“And then you can...tell me all about your pilot. That’s what friends do, don’t they?”

“I have a feeling you’ve already deduced all there is to know about him.”

“You’d be right,” Sherlock paused, “But you can always tell me anyway. Just to make sure that I’m right.”


	12. Be This Real Forever

Martin stared at his phone. Surely John would have got them today. Martin had made sure to check and double-check how long it would take to get a letter from Oslo - where he’d been at the time - to London. And even with the time difference between Prague - where he was now - and London, John should be home from clinic by now. Which means he should have gotten the letter and opened it and seen them and texted Martin.

Unless. Unless Martin had overstepped his bounds. Unless John thought Martin was rushing things somehow. Unless John had started having second thoughts.

No. Maybe he was on a case. If he was on a case, then he was probably too busy to check the mail. But...he would have told Martin if he was on case, he LOVED talking about the cases.

So maybe he was staying late at the clinic, after all, it would be flu season soon and people were bound to be going now to get their flu shots. Or maybe another doctor was sick so John had to take their patients as well as his own. Or maybe -

Martin’s eyes widened as his phone finally dinged and he hastily opened the message, _My goodness, Martin, you really are something_

His heart sunk, _\- Should I apologise?_

_Oh God, no! I’m just surprised, is all_

_I can honestly say that I never expected plane tickets, although Sherlock said “Obviously.” when I told him_

Martin finally exhaled, _\- So you’ll come then?_

_Of fucking course!  
_

_I think I’m actually going to start packing now_

Martin flung himself backwards onto the hotel bed and grinned. In three days - three very short almost meaningless days - John would meet him in Zurich. John would stay at his apartment in Zurich. John would walk around and go to shops and have tea with him in Zurich. John would be naked in his bed in Zurich. He blushed despite being alone and hugged his pillow.

 

***

 

His hands were clasped firmly behind his back, a smile plastered on his face, only breaking occasionally to wish passengers a pleasant day. Never before in his life had he wanted so desperately to just push every last person off of the plane. He discreetly checked his watch; John’s plane would be landing in just ten minutes and he _had_ to be at that gate.

Well, he didn’t _have_ to be, but he wanted to be. He wanted to see John’s face as soon as he walked off the bridge. He wanted to put his arms around him and hug him briefly - but just briefly, they were still in an airport, in the public eye. He wanted to carry his luggage for him and ask him about his trip and just relax and listen to his absolutely wonderful, pleasant voice.

But apparently some doddering old ladies in the back of the plane had their own ideas about Martin’s future. He fought back a loud groan when he caught sight of them still trying to get their luggage out of the overhead compartment. Luckily, one of the flight attendants - clearly also ready to be off the bloody plane - jogged down the aisle to assist them. Martin checked his watch again - five minutes, just five minutes until John’s plane landed. Assuming the best, he could probably make it to John’s gate if he ran the entire way there.

Finally - blessedly finally - he was clear to leave. He apologetically brushed past the flight attendants and walked as quickly as possible - running was, after all, against protocol - down the bridge. He knew that if he hurried he could still make it. But, once he left the bridge and entered the actual airport, his stomach dropped. There standing, with a sheepish grin on his face, was the glorious sight of John Watson.

Martin flew over to him, apologising the whole way, “I’m so sorry, so very sorry, passengers were taking their time getting off the plane and all I could do was just stand there and watch, I wanted to hurry, I was trying to hurry - “

John cut him off by pulling him in for a brief, chaste kiss - without regard for the numerous people around them. For Martin though, it was exactly what he needed, something singular for him to focus on and shut the rest of his mind off.

He smiled as he pulled away, “It’s alright, my flight was a bit early. I never asked you where we would meet, so I figured I’d just wait for you at your gate. Can I carry your luggage for you? You must be exhausted from flying.”

“Oh! No, no no no no let me carry yours. You’re...you’re my guest after all.”

John booped him on his nose, “That’s quite nice of you, but I’m sure you’ll have plenty of chances to play the gentle host.”

With that, John took Martin’s rolling suitcase and slung his own duffel over his shoulder, gesturing for Martin to lead the way. It hadn’t been what he intended, but Martin was gracious for John’s generosity once they started making their way through the airport and he realised just how tired he actually was; he’d mostly been running on adrenaline since he received John’s text.

Once they’d grabbed a taxi - Martin refused to purchase a car after his move - and given proper directions, Martin tried to point out a few landmarks to John. Unfortunately, his pronunciation was still a bit rusty; he had a difficult time wrapping his mouth around words such as _Schanzengraben_. Although the cab driver was often helpful in correcting him.

John was, again, insistent on carrying the luggage in once they made it to Martin’s apartment. Regrettably, it was in an older building that hadn’t yet been renovated with an elevator, so they had to trudge up the three flights of stairs. However, the view of the Zurich skyline once they finally made it to the apartment was somewhat worth it, Martin hoped. The apartment itself wasn’t much, just a living room, bedroom, and kitchen. The walls throughout had been painted a light creamy yellow by the previous tenant, which Martin didn’t mind, and there were plenty of windows throughout that looked out over the low village.

“Sorry if it’s a bit, musty. I wish I’d gotten back yesterday, I would have made the place look a bit nicer.”

John pulled him close, “Your place looks fantastic, I like it already,” He kissed him quickly but didn’t back away, “Now, maybe you’ll show me the bedroom? So I can put the luggage away.”

Martin blushed, “Oh, um, uh, it’s this way. Just to our...right.”

The large bed in the center of the room had been a gift from the woman that had rented the pace before him - she didn’t have room for it in her new place - and he had accepted it readily, being that it was much nicer and much plusher than the twin bed he’d used for years when he’d lived in an attic. As soon as the bed was in sight, the weight of the past few days finally overwhelmed him and he flopped onto it eagerly despite still being in his pilot’s uniform. John smiled down at him before climbing onto the bed himself and crawling up Martin’s body.

He loomed over Martin, “You seem so tired, let me take care of you.”

Martin's eyes widened as John planted gentle, wet kisses across his jaw and down his throat, "Oh, you mean..."

John chuckled against his skin, "Yes."

"Oh."

He leaned up, "Is that alright?"

"Oh, yes, actually. Very...very much yes."

John just smiled before resuming his pleasant attack on Martin's neck while slowing unbuttoning his uniform shirt. He slid his hands around Martin's sides to lift him up and roll the shirt down and off his arms. Martin caught his mouth in a deep kiss and undid his shirt, casting it off to the side.

John pulled Martin's undershirt up and off then pressed him back down, "Shh.... You're supposed to be relaxing."

Martin just groaned as John tongued a circle around his nipple before sucking on it, using one hand to stroke up and down his chest while his other hand was busy unfastening Martin’s trousers. John pressed kisses along his chest and abdomen and ran his hands into the trousers, lifting Martin’s hips and running his hands around to give his arse a firm squeeze before pulling the trousers off. If Martin squeaked a little, John pretended not to notice.

For a moment, John just nuzzled against Martin’s still-covered cock and ran his hands up and down his thighs. Martin bit his lip and ran his hand through John’s short, blonde hair. He gasped as John’s tongue slowly slid up his shaft and pressed into the head of his cock. Using his teeth - and eventually his hands - John dragged Martin’s pants off and tossed them somewhere in the vicinity of John’s shirt. He quickly unbuttoned and slipped off his own jeans before climbing back up and over Martin, his clothed cock nestled against Martin’s very naked one.

John started pressing gentle kisses on his lips again, “You have to tell me if you don’t like something, alright? Don’t...get worried or anything.”

Martin furrowed his brows, “I’m not sure there’s anything I wouldn’t want you to do to me...”

He pressed one, final kiss before pulling away, “That’s the spirit.”

John slowly moved back down Martin’s body, occasionally nipping at his skin, then circled his tongue a few times around the head of Martin’s cock before taking it nearly completely into his mouth. Martin’s eyes rolled back into his head and he gasped for air, especially so when he felt one of John's hand slide down and rub against his opening.

One finger was gently circling, not yet pushing, while John's mouth still lazily moved around his cock. John ran his free hand up and down his side in a soothing gesture.

Slowly, Martin could feel himself opening up and exhaled deeply when he felt John's finger finally enter him, knuckle-by-knuckle until it was completely inside of him then sliding in and out. John took one final pull down Martin's cock before moving up and resting his forehead on Martin's abdomen.

"Is this...are you alright?"

Martin rolled his hips to push himself further onto John's finger, "Very very very alright."

"Ready for another?"

"Yes yes yes, please. Please John."

He couldn't deny the burn as he felt himself stretch even wider, but it was a pleasant burn, almost enjoyable. He could feel John's fingers moving and scissoring him open and it was not nearly enough, not even when John would - no doubt intentionally - brush his fingers against Martin's prostate and cause him to buck upwards.

"John...John please, I need you, I need _you_.”

John lifted his head, “Are you sure?”

“Oh God...Absolutely”

Martin watched as John sat up on his heels and delicately removed his fingers before grabbing Martin’s legs and wrapping them around himself. One of Martin's arms was flung over his eyes, but he could hear the familiar sound of foil ripping and slick noises as John rolled the condom onto himself and pumped his hand up and down a few times. John leaned over him and Martin could feel the pressure of the head of his cock as he gradually pushed in. Their foreheads touched and John whispered to him sweetly until he was fully inside of him. John stayed still for a moment, enough time for Martin to get adjusted to the feeling of being filled by him. After a few deep exhales, Martin looked up at John’s impossibly dark eyes and nodded, jerking his hips upwards just in case John didn’t understand.

With a groan, John lowered himself until their bodies were nearly pressed together and started gently rolling his hips, occasionally pulling almost completely out before pushing back in. Gradually, as their panting became louder, he increased his pace until they were at a perfect rhythm and Martin could distantly hear the slapping of their skin. John ran his hands down Martin’s sides and gripped his hips, pulling them upwards. Martin leaned into John’s shoulder and bit down as John started running his cock against his prostate over and over again.

Suddenly, Martin could feel himself shuddering and scrunched his eyes shut, letting out a cry as his orgasm washed over him. He was still shaking when John cried out and released inside of him, warm despite the barrier. It took Martin a moment to realise that they were panting into each other’s mouths, which made him realise just how close John’s mouth was. He grabbed the back of John’s neck and dragged him down for an open, wet kiss, moaning into it when he felt John pulling out of him.

John flopped beside him, after he'd tied off and thrown away the condom, “I hope that was alright”

Martin leaned up on his elbows, “That was much more than alright. The exact homecoming I needed, as it happens." He leaned over hoping to find his undershirt so he could wipe himself off with it.

"Well, good," He stretched out, "I uh...good, that's good."

Martin nuzzled against his chest, "Something's bothering you..."

He sighed deeply, “I'm just...curious. Curious as to what Sherlock whispered to you before.”

"I'm sorry, John," Martin leaned up and kissed his nose, "But some secrets stay secrets."

"You're really not going to tell me?"

"It's hardly a secret anyway, it's not really something you don't already know."

John tugged him closer, "Fine then, be all mysterious."

Martin couldn't help but grin as he took a deep breath and inhaled the absolute perfect scent of John. And, just as he drifted to sleep, he thought to himself that Sherlock was right after all: John wasn't at all as rough as he thought he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is my final bit in this particular story arc. I definitely want to explore this particular AU further, but for now, I'm going to leave this as the final chapter.
> 
> Edit: Ugh...yeah, so I completely changed the ending because safe sex is the best sex (or something). I think I like this ending better, but I'm always open to suggestions.


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